


Teenage Wildlife

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The Breakfast Club (1985)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-18
Updated: 2006-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 08:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1640477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian Johnson/John Bender. Late-night searching, soul and otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teenage Wildlife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sunsetmog

 

 

Bender shows up out of nowhere, leaning against the ticket window, so close that his breath is fogging it up. His vacant stare seems to pass right through Brian, remains unchanged when Brian speaks.

"Uh, hi. Can I help you with... anything?"

Brian hasn't seen John Bender since that day in detention, and although it's only been five weeks, it seems much longer.

He just stands there, blowing his hot breath onto the glass and knocking his knuckles on the counter to the rhythm of some metal song that Brian barely recognizes. He still hasn't blinked. A fair distance behind him, a couple of girls are fidgeting and eyeing the showtimes for the latest weepy romance.

"B- Uh, sorry, there are people waiting, so..."

Bender's eyes shift, seem to find focus in the middle of Brian's forehead. He's noticed before, but it never fails to strike him, something about Bender's eyes, how they're slightly lopsided, like a puppy that's been cuffed on one side of the head too many times.

"Yeah," Bender says finally. He fishes a handful of singles from somewhere inside his trenchcoat. "Gimme a ticket."

"A ticket for what? What movie?"

"Whatever, just a ticket."

Bender's disinterest seems genuine enough. Brian doesn't know what to make of it. He stares back at those big dark eyes, or tries to, until his own eyes start to water from the strain. Then he just punches the first button on the register and gives Bender his fifty cents in change and a ticket he doesn't even glance at.

Bender goes into the theatre, wiping his hand along the moist glass. It makes a squeak that sets Brian's teeth on edge.

::

"Bri. Old buddy."

There's something about Bender's voice, that mix of false enthusiasm and gravel, that stirs something inside Brian. His eyes have to adjust to the dark before he can make out Bender's silhouette, propped up against a dumpster, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He wants to ask him what he's still doing here. The movie ended an hour ago, and Brian's co-workers aren't the quickest at closing up shop. But Brian doesn't like opening his mouth around Bender. He always feels like he's setting them up for Bender to knock down, like anything he says gets twisted and slapped right back at him.

Bender reacts to his silence the same way he'd react to his words, though.

"Oh, the movie? Well, I had to take some time and ponder the significance of it. _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ as a metaphor for our time, you know. I swear, when brave Sir Robin ran away, I just... I couldn't hold it together. What a truly touching portrayal."

He wipes a pretend tear away with the back of his hand.

He wants something. That's why he's still here. The thought of that scares Brian a little, and he realizes he's going to have to speak after all.

"Were you... are you waiting for me?"

He hates the way his voice still squeaks, hates how it gives away every little detail of how he's feeling. In this case, it sounds like utter horror, and it pleases Bender immensely.

"Depends," Bender says, digging into his coat.

"On what?"

"That's your dad's minivan over there, isn't it?"

He says _minivan_ like the word smells bad. Brian's glance follows Bender's cocked chin to the clunky navy blue van with _Johnson Sanitation Services_ sketched in peeling white letters across the side. It's the last car in the parking lot.

The blood rushes to Brian's cheeks when he talks.

"Yeah, he lets me drive it, but only to work... Well, to work and back... obviously, because I wouldn't just leave it here, but..."

Bender pulls something out of a deep inner pocket, and just nods at Brian's rambling. Brian doesn't have to look to know that what's clenched in Bender's fist is a bag of weed. He loses his train of thought and just fidgets, rubbing the curls at the back of his neck.

"I, uh... I don't really feel comfortable..."

Bender's appraising look just tells him what he already knows. Resigned, Brian leads the way.

::

It's only the second time he's done this, and both times with Bender, which is something he doesn't necessarily want to think about.

He doesn't cough this time, although he comes close, tears springing to the surface. If Bender notices, he doesn't say anything, just leans his head against the hard metal of the van's insides and watches.

The smoke burns just as much on his second hit. It makes him antsy. By the time Bender passes the joint back for a third go, Brian's wearing one of his dad's mops as a wig and trying his hand at a truly pathetic Jamaican accent.

"Tanks, Breadcrumb."

A corner of Bender's mouth quirks up, nudging his mask of indifference aside, just for the moment.

"What did you just call me?"

"Nothing," Brian says, tossing the mop head aside.

Bender's laugh is nothing like anything Brian's ever heard coming out of his mouth before. It's _quiet_ , for one thing, and breathy, and... generous. Whatever that means.

It makes Brian feel a little bit queasy. Or maybe that's the pot, too.

::

Bender's dad died.

The way he tells Brian is the way you'd tell someone their shoelace is untied.

Some industrial accident at the bottling plant. It'll be in the papers tomorrow.

Made you look.

::

They start driving. Bender just climbs behind the wheel and somehow he's got the keys and Brian's just along for the ride.

Only thing is, there isn't anywhere to go after leaving the parking lot. They circle the mall in widening arcs, not really talking. Brian's enjoying his buzz, how everything looks kind of shiny, how Bender hasn't so much as raised his voice at him this whole time. And the longer they stay out, the further away that moment gets, the one where Brian's dad asks for the keys, cold disappointment in his eyes.

So when Bender finally gives up on driving somewhere interesting and parks on a dark side street instead, it seems as good a place as any.

It's the silence that finally gets to him, makes him open his mouth even though he knows he probably shouldn't.

"Are you okay? Because I know that... I mean, in my experience..."

Bender's empty grin shuts him up.

"Don't you know a celebration when you see it, Bri?"

His face is pulling in about a hundred different directions. The darkness obscures most of his features, and Brian can't decide if the effect is sinister or simply devastating.

"Right," he says.

Bender tosses him the rolling papers. Brian's never made a joint, but he's betting there's a science to it.

::

"Just fuck him. Fuck the motherfucker. Fuuuck!"

Bender's been ranting for maybe minutes, maybe hours. Brian sinks further against the cold metal wall of the van and marvels at his own state of mind. He had no idea it was possible to be this baked. If he could, he'd dissect his own brain right now.

Their one-sided celebration has taken a somber turn. Brian thinks he can actually see Bender shaking with rage, which he probably can't because there's hardly any light back here, only the pale streetlight glow that filters in from the front seat.

Bender's said the word "fuck" more times in the last ten minutes than Brian's ever heard before.

Crawling over on his hands and knees, Brian sits by him, close enough for his hand to brush Bender's tensed fist. His corduroys throw off a few sparks when they brush against the van's cheap carpeting.

The proximity changes things. It shuts Bender up, for one. His fingers relax against Brian's and he stretches his legs as far as they'll go, kicking over a couple of containers of drain cleaner that Brian identifies by scent alone.

"Geez, your hand is freezing," Brian says, instantly regretting it when Bender yanks it away, resting his closed fist in his lap.

Brian wonders if this is the reason he's never seen Bender without his cut-off gloves. He tugs on Bender's sleeve, meeting no resistance besides an uncomfortable hunch of the shoulders, and covers the cold fingers with his own.

::

It's after one in the morning when Bender kisses him.

Brian's worried about getting home, about what his father will say. But he can't say that, not to Bender, so he just squints at his Casio's light-up display and says, "Don't you think it's getting kinda late?"

Which is how he knows the time.

They're working on another joint, and for a second he thinks Bender just wants to shotgun. But his lips just close against Brian's, soft like that private little laugh of his, the one that surprised Brian so much.

Brian shifts back, tonguing his braces, trying to force his eyes to see in the dark. What he _can_ see are Bender's eyes, close, shining. He can hear the quickness of his breath and the scritch of fingers against the synthetic carpeting. The deepening red glow as Bender takes another hit.

They've probably had enough.

::

Brian's kissed a couple of people before. The first was Gina, from his middle school's robotics club, who thought he was cute. The other doesn't really count.

Both girls, though.

This is something else entirely.

After the first time Bender cuts himself on Brian's braces, he stops being careful at all. Brian can taste blood, coppery and warm, as Bender's mouth crushes his.

Later, he'll have to get Bender home, knows he'll idle at the edge of the scraggly yard until the front door shuts behind him. Then Brian will drive around a little more, clear his head.

Now, though, there's nothing distracting him from the sharp sensation of Bender's teeth sinking into his lip, or the cold fingers curling into the collar of his work uniform.

Nothing but the quiet thrill he gets when he kisses back, sucking on responsive lips, finding moist tangles when he touches the back of Bender's neck.

They could do this all night.

The almost do.

 


End file.
